


Touch Me or Don't (Just Let Me Know)

by fansofcollisions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (sort of), Bondage, Bottom Castiel, Dungeon, Knifeplay, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Top Dean, smutty smutty smut, tptb gave us a dungeon and expected us not to write shameless porn? pfft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fansofcollisions/pseuds/fansofcollisions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas find a great use for the bunker's newly discovered dungeon.</p><p>(And coincidentally prove Kevin's suspicions to be not entirely unfounded.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Me or Don't (Just Let Me Know)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm mildly ashamed of myself for writing this.
> 
> I'm more ashamed of myself that there were about ten more different uses for those chains that I thought up that didn't even make it into this fic.

“What the hell do I have to do to get you to stay, Cas? Huh? Cause I can’t make you. God knows I can’t make you do a goddamn thing you don’t want to.”

“I don’t-“

“What’s my option here? Do I have to lock you up in fucking chains until you finally realize that I’m not letting you walk out on me,” Dean corrects himself hastily, “on _us,_ one more time?”

It’s not until later, when darkness falls and the bunker is quiet and some shameful thoughts can’t be buried any longer, that Dean realizes there’s a certain appeal to the idea.

xxx---xxx---xxx---xxx---xxx

“You’re sure Sam will be out for a sufficient amount of time?”

“Quit your worrying. Sammy’s busy setting up a blind date with a vamp and a machete. He’s got a two day drive ahead of him. We’re fine.”

Dean grabs Castiel’s wrist and drags him along the hallway, feeling giddily like he’s a kid in high school again, all hormoned up and sneaking into the janitor’s closet for a quick lunchtime screw. Though what they have planned… well, let’s just say that he’s pretty sure getting caught at it would have gotten him more than a suspension.

The lights of the storage room flicker when he flips the switch, but they stay on after a few moments. He makes a mental note to replace the bulbs at some point in the future.

Dean takes a deep breath as he pulls apart the two shelves to unveil the enclosure that’s been haunting, in the best way possible, his dreams for the last few months.

And what a few months they’ve been. Hell’s closed, and Heaven… well, they all try to avoid talking about what happened in Heaven. But regardless, it’s done now. Dean’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, if he’s being honest, but he’s trying to enjoy the break from the insanity all the same.

The best part is, somewhere along the way, him and Cas sorted it out. If they happened to sort it out by a very tearful, very unmanly conversation followed by Cas slamming Dean into his wall with enough force to crack the plaster and tearing off all his clothes, well, nobody was really around to judge.

Dean feels the hand in his tense in its loose hold and he looks at him, searching his eyes for any sort of regret. “You still sure about this?” he asks, trying not to let his own apprehension shine through.

But Castiel’s eyes are fixed on the pair of cuffs hanging from the ceiling, glinting with the dim reflection of fluorescent light, and the emotion they hold could not be described as anything like fear. “Quite certain.” He turns his face to Dean and blinks once, twice. Then he asks, voice all false innocence,

“Where do you want me?”

Dean doesn’t quite manage to repress his moan.

See, the thing is? Dean, consciously or not, has been thinking about this for months. And he’s got ideas. Oh, he’s got ideas that go on for days and days. He’s got a thousand scenarios planned out his head, all the things he’s thought about as he rolled his hips into the mattress desperately at night, all the dirty things he wants to do. Sam caught him once perched upon the opposite shelf of the dungeon, contemplating. He’d invented some sort of excuse about getting this or that file. Sam didn’t buy it, of course, but he probably figured Dean was locked in some sort of Hell flashback and left him to it.

At least, he hopes that the reason Sam invented. His baby brother has had enough brain scarring for a lifetime.

Hell seems like a distant memory to Dean now, washed over with security and some semblance of happiness and (yes, he’ll admit it) _love_. And he’s eager to overwrite any last trace of the negative association with whatever Cas is willing to give him.

By the insistent, almost panted ‘ _Dean_ ’ at his side, Dean thinks Cas might be willing to give him quite a lot.

“Just…” he trails off. “There.” He points to the center of the dungeon, where a pair of cuffs sit on the floor and another hang above their heads. Cas moves and turns to face Dean, then raises his arms above his head, wrists crossed.

“Like this?” he asks uncertainly. Dean gulps.

“Yeah, just like that. Perfect. Yeah.” He grabs the ceiling cuffs before his hands can start shaking. The pegs slide into place on first one, then the other. Cas gives an experimental yank. They hold, so he kneels to slip off Cas’s shoes and secure the cuffs on the floor around his ankles. Once they’re tight, he steps back to examine his handiwork.

He’s not really prepared for what the sight of Cas strung up does to him. His heart leaps up to choke him as he sees him twirl his wrists around, checking for weaknesses in the design of the cuffs and finding none, pulling his arms apart to find that their range of motion has been limited to mere inches. With his ankles tied up he can’t move his legs from their slightly spread position. Perfectly spread, in fact, to slip a thigh between. Dean feels another moan beg to exit his throat.

“Dean,” Castiel pleads. “Do something.” His face is beginning to flush, though whether from arousal or embarrassment Dean can’t tell.

“Uh, yeah. Right. Um.” He moves forward, Castiel’s eyes following him all the while, watching as his reaches out a hand to lightly touch his side. He’s shirked the trenchcoat and tie but the baggy dress shirt and slacks remain. Dean revels at the press of warm skin beneath the fabric.

His hand slides around to graze Cas’s stomach. The muscles there flutter beneath his fingertips. He moves it upward to trace the outline of his collarbone, crossing the barrier from shirt to bare skin and cupping his neck, feeling the tight sinew there. Dean’s thumb strokes at his jaw and Cas’s mouth falls open, begging to be filled.

Dean obliges, grabbing Cas’s hair with his other hand and pulling him up to slot Dean’s mouth to his. The kiss is hard and dirty, with Dean pushing forwards and Castiel falling back until he loses his balance and there’s nothing holding him up but Dean’s arm around his back and the wrists locked in cuffs above their heads.

By the time Dean pulls away his can feel Cas’s hardness pressed against his thigh, an firm heat which makes Dean want to growl and bite at his prisoner’s neck. Righting the both of them, he reaches down to palm roughly at Cas’s crotch, pressing the heel of his palm in and kneading. Cas groans  against Dean’s neck, his wrists jerking above him.

Just as Cas begins to pant wetly into Dean’s ear, he pulls away completely, leaving him freestanding. He seems to deflate, arms hanging loosely from the chains and legs trembling. His shirt sticks to his chest with a thin sheen of sweat, brown nipples visible through the sheer fabric. Dean gives his breathing a moment to slow as he palms at his own cock, content for the moment to just _survey_.

He decides debauched is a good look on Cas.

 Dean shucks off his t-shirt, throwing it into a corner and leaving himself bare-chested. The shoes and socks go next (thankfully he’d done a sweep for anything potentially tetanus inducing on the floor a few nights ago). The floor is cold and grainy and he wonders if maybe he should have kept the socks after all, but Cas growls his name and he soon forgets any minor discomfort as his cock twitches at the sound.

The outline of Castiel’s own cock is clearly visible even through his slacks, straining forward with each panted breath. Dean walks forward and falls to his knees, ready to worship this perfect body, all tied up and pretty for him. After all, this was never about domination. This isn’t humiliation play or debasement. This is a display, an experiment in new sensations and in fantasy and he intends to make it as enjoyable as possible for both parties.

That isn’t to say he doesn’t intend on torturing his partner in some manner or another. Like gripping the hard muscles of Castiel’s thighs tight with his hands and running them up and down, mouth open and mere inches away from Castiel’s fly. He breathes out as he begins to mouth at the fabric, letting saliva pool in his mouth and begin to seep through the cotton. Above him, Castiel shakes and gasps, canting his hips forward to get more, anything from Dean’s mouth other than the slick heat of his tongue. He slides his hands up over sharp hips and under the white shirt, running his fingers in small circles over the skin there.

Castiel’s breathing harshens as he dips his fingers just below the beltline to crest the cleft of his ass. Dean uses the opportunity to pull Cas’s hips forward even more. His mouth has found the tip of his cock and he sucks as much as he can of it through the fabric, pushing deeper and flicking his tongue along the underside.

The taste of metal from the zipper and a spongy feeling begin to permeate Dean’s mouth and he moves his head back. The front of Cas’s pants is sodden now from Dean’s ministrations, a dark patch of moisture staining the black fabric. It’s all Dean can do to stop himself from plunging a hand down his jeans right now and jacking himself off, but neither of them are even naked yet, and he’s got so much more planned. He can’t give in yet.

Speaking of which, he should probably get on that whole clothing issue.

But as he stands, groaning in the non-sexy way for how the joints of his knees feel (ah, the joys of aging), he realizes he’s made a little miscalculation in this setup. As in, there’s no way Cas’s clothes are coming off without unhooking him from the chains, and Dean _really_ doesn’t want to do that just yet. But he also _really_ wants Cas naked.

…Well, there’s no way they’re coming off in one _piece_ , anyway. With that realization, he turns and retrieves his jacket from the place it had been hanging on a shelf. Reaching into the pocket, he pulls out his pocket knife. It’s an elegant thing, a gift from his father on his thirteenth birthday. Sharp as ice. Swallowing, he turns back to the dungeon.

Castiel sees what’s in his hand the moment Dean approaches and his eyes widen. Dean holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey! No worries. Nobody’s getting cut up today.” Not that Cas couldn’t heal himself even if Dean decided to plunge the knife straight into this heart, not that he hadn’t before, but he doesn’t think he’d appreciate the action all the same. Nobody really likes getting torn up, after all.

Gulping, Castiel nods. “I trust you.”

He says the words with such simple sincerity that Dean feels his heart all but restart as a jolt of stupid happiness pulses through him. “Yeah?” he whispers, leaning his forehead against Cas’s.

He’ll never tire of hearing those words.

“Of course.” And Dean believes him, so he kisses him slow now, gentle. His lips find the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his cheek, and then slipping his tongue into Cas’s mouth he uses his free hand to grasp the hair at the back of his neck. Cas sighs softly when he pulls away. Dean clears his throat and blinks several times before getting back to business.

Cas’s eyes don’t leave the blade as he raises it, grazes the cold metal against Cas’s exposed throat. Dean chokes a little at the sound the angel makes as he throws his head back, baring himself for Dean to do what he wishes. Dean takes the knife and, ever so gently, begins slicing through the first sleeve. His precision means the edge only kisses the skin of Castiel’s arm, never breaking the skin but leaving a thin trail of white up its length. He repeats the pattern for the other sleeve, arms straining to keep the knife steady as he reaches above both their heads. The knife scrapes against the cuff as he cuts through the last few threads. After undoing the buttons with surprisingly sure fingers, the tatters of the shirt fall to the floor. He kicks them into the corner with his t-shirt.

Both now shirtless from the waist up, Dean presses their hips together. He trails the knife down Castiel’s stomach, relishing the way the muscles jump beneath it. Deftly he sinks it below the belt and cuts off the button of the trousers. It bounces away into some dim extremity of the room. With the same surgical precision as before he slices down the inseam of the pants and up past the crotch, all the way to the waistline, on both sides. The belt is now the only thing keeping the fabric attached to its owner’s frame. So, of course, it has to go. The pile in the corner grows steadily larger.

Nothing but the briefs then. And the socks, but he figures those can stay on for the moment. The blade makes quick work of the thin material. Dean peels the sticky cloth away from Cas’s body. Cas’s naked body. Cas’s naked body strung up from the ceiling with cuffed wrists and spread legs and a hard cock bobbing just below Dean’s fingertips.

An involuntary shiver runs through Cas. It can’t be because he’s cold, as Dean’s pretty sure angels have their internal temperature system locked down tight. But he’s trembling nonetheless, pupils blown and mouth still hanging open, still begging to be kissed, or… another day, maybe. That’s not on the agenda, however tempting it might be in the moment.

Still in his jeans, Dean moves behind Cas now, careful not to touch his body, to prolong the teasing. After counting to ten in his head, Castiel’s quickening breath the only sound echoing in the room, he blows lightly against the back of his neck. Castiel jerks forward, but Dean’s strong arm grabs him around the middle and pulls him roughly against Dean. The sweat from the small of Cas’s back mingles with that running down his chest. They’re both so sweaty already, and they’ve barely even started.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Dean begins to roll his hips against Castiel’s bare ass. Even through the denim, the friction is amazing. With each little circular movement he dips his fingers lower until they’re just brushing the top of the pubic hair above Cas’s cock.

Cas leans his head back and mouths at Dean’s ear, pressing soft kisses below his jawline punctuated by a little gasp with each, more insistent press of Dean’s hips. He flattens one hand against Cas’s stomach and uses it to press Cas back with each thrust forward, while his other hand slides up Castiel’s straining arms until it reaches engraved metal. His fingers search out Castiel’s own and they intertwine as their rocking speeds up.

“Please,” pants Cas after a time.

“Please what?” Dean grins and nips at his shoulder.

“Touch. Me,” Cas forces out through gritted teeth. Dean looks down. The head of Cas’s cock is coated with pre-cum. Even as he watches, a little more dribbles out of the slit. Yep. He’s waited long enough. His own erection is begging for some relief as well and the dry humping isn’t really going to cut it at this point.

“Ok,” he whispers, and finally takes Cas’s cock in hand.

Everything is slick and warm and hard and they groan at once as Dean slides his grip up and down, too hot and caught up to make this slow and easy, to tease any longer. With each jerk of his wrist he snaps his hips forward. The chains clank as they glance off one another in the flurry of movement and sound.

Feeling the stiffening of his partner’s muscles and the rigidity of his posture, Dean can tell Cas is close. Way too close. Time to cool down. Slowing down to a more moderate pace, Dean releases his grip on Castiel’s hand and reaches down to unbuckle his jeans. He can feel, as well as hear, Cas’s moan as his boxers hit the floor along with the denim and he presses his hard-on into the plushness of the perfect ass before him.

It takes all Dean’s willpower not to just rub himself off right then and there, shoot his load all over Cas’s back and watch the cum drip down the back of his legs… but no. He had a plan for today and he intends to follow through with it to the letter.

He takes his hand off Cas’s cock, ignoring his displeased groan at the loss of contact, and trails it up Cas’s stomach, leaving a trail of precum all over his abs. His fingers pause at Cas’s lips, half hoping that he’ll take the bait and suck them dry, but when he gets no response he moves them onwards, figuring maybe that’s a kink they’ll explore another time (his cock twitches with interest at the thought).

“Dean, what-“ Castiel says in confusion as Dean unbolts the cuffs above his head. He drops his arms and begins rubbing at his wrists. Dean hurries to unbolt the floor cuffs before the moment is lost completely.

“Just a change of position, not to worry,” he says cheerfully. “Back up.”

Cas tries to oblige, but his legs are shaky from being brought to the brink of orgasm and left hanging, so he stumbles. Dean catches him and propels them both backwards until they hit the wall, Cas gasping at the sudden impact of cold stone against his shoulders. He leans forward to bite at Cas’s lip before growling, “Turn around.” Cas does so with no hesitation, a small smirk quirking his lips upwards as he realizes where this is going.

There are two pairs of cuffs attached to the wall at shoulder height and they’ve managed to wind up directly in the middle of the two. Dean grabs the left arm and fastens it to one side, then does the same on the right. Now Cas is attached as though to a cross, his arms stretched to their full capacity in the shape of a T and body flush against the wall. Dean only bemoans that there are no floor cuffs here as well.

“Spread your legs,” he orders, smacking the inside of one of Cas’s thighs. Cas moves his ankles apart and pushes his ass out slightly, knowing exactly where this is going. “Are you ready?” he asks.

“Get on with it,” Cas groans back. There are some perks to an angel boyfriend, not least of which a lack of need for prep when neither of them are interested in that particular aspect of foreplay. And they are both so, so far past being interested.

“Alright,” Dean says, and taking a moment to line himself up, sinks himself in.

Cas is hot and tight and slick around him and Dean thinks he might come right there from the sound Cas makes when he’s entered. He drags Cas’s hips back a little more and thrusts in again, keeping an arm wrapped around his waist. Each ever deepening thrust forces Cas’s chest forward into the wall. Dean loves the feeling of trapping him there, of enclosing him completely. He presses soft kisses into the back of his neck as he pushes in again, sucking little bruises here and there: an inelegant collar of possession.

The smack of exposed flesh is obscene in its echoing about the stone enclosure, and Dean’s sure his grunts are nothing less pornographic, but it’s the whines Cas is making, so far removed from the gravelly, serious tone he usually favours, which push Dean over the edge. He comes as he bites into Cas’s shoulder, feeling himself spill deep inside him. His legs buckle as the aftershocks of the orgasm run through him and he presses himself against Cas’s back, propping himself up for support. Cas moans at him, still weakly thrusting his hips forward, begging for any sort of relief.

Dean pulls himself out with a wet squelch. At any other time the sound would have been disgusting but now, watching the cum dribble out of Cas’s fucked hole and run down the inside of his thighs, even that is enough to make his cock jump half-heartedly, a valiant effort at a round two Dean knows his body doesn’t have the stamina for at this age.

Cas is still desperate, so close and now having lost the contact of Dean’s body he’s fucking _keening_ , straining at his bonds like a mad dog. Dean takes pity on him and (reminding himself to bring a pillow next time they do this) drops to his knees. He swivels Cas’s hips with his hands  and maneuvers himself between his hips and the wall, or at least his head, and takes all of Cas in one go (hey, he’s been getting a lot of practice in recent months).

Kneading the back of Cas’s thighs as he sucks, he can feel a little of his own cum trickle over his knuckle and fuck if that isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever felt. It only renews his enthusiasm and within two minutes Cas is swearing and shooting down his throat. He swallows what he can and spits the rest once Castiel is spent, pulling himself back up to a standing position. He’s probably going to have to take a mop to this place sometime later. Maybe some borax wouldn’t go amiss either.

Castiel’s legs finally give out and he collapses, his entire weight now held up but the cuffs around his wrists. Dean unlocks them and, cradling the angel against his chest, sinks them both down to the ground to sit against the wall.

As Cas’s breathing slows down, Dean’s chest rises and falls to match it. “Was that ok?” he asks, rush of power gone leaving him with the telltale signs of anxiety rising within him.

But Cas just smiles that little smile of his, the pleased one that Dean tries day in and day out to get to appear. “It was quite enjoyable.”

Dean breathes out slowly in relief. “Good. Yeah, it was really good for me too. Real good. I mean-“ _Shut up, Winchester, you’re ruining the moment_.

“I just have a question,” Cas interrupts.

“Sure thing, Cas. Shoot.”

He turns his head to look at Dean and with the most serious expression imaginable, one more appropriate to the discussion of angelic grudgematches than post-coital pillow talk (or whatever kind of talk applies after fucking your boyfriend in a hundred-year-old dungeon designed to incapacitate demons).

“When do I get to chain you up?”

Dean’s mouth falls open. “Um. Cas…”

“I have all sorts of intriguing ideas,” he says, absentmindedly fingering the nearest floor cuff.

And you know what, with that kind of initiative? Who the hell is Dean to argue.

“Whenever you want me, I’m yours,” he says, grinning nervously. He’s not sure what kinky ideas Cas has in mind, but with his superhuman strength he can imagine finding himself in some… interesting predicaments here. Another thought for another day.

Cas nods and kisses him deeply, and Dean forgets all about dungeons, just revels in the fact that though the chains are off, Cas is still in his arms. Here to stay.

Knowing he’s enough to tie somebody down, to tether them to this earth? He’ll take that over sex in a heartbeat.


End file.
